Little Things
by Janet Elizabeth
Summary: Everyone has a crush on everyone else. Please note that this is a SLASH fan fiction series. You have been warned.
1. His Master's Voice

LITTLE THINGS: His Master's Voice

by Janet Elizabeth  


Dear Diary, 

It's me again Samwise. I'm sorry I haven't written lately, but there's been things on my mind as such, what with Mister Frodo and Mister Pippin and Mister Merry and I getting lost on the way to Bree, but now I have something secret to tell just you, seeing as I knows you won't tell no-one.  


There's been this feeling growing in me lately, ever since I agreed to come on this adventure with Mister Frodo. It's not a proper hobbit feeling if you get my meaning, but I know what I feel just the same. I think I may be in love with Frodo. I don't know how this happened, especially since I have an understanding with the Cotton's over their Rosie, but somehow, someway I've got bit by a lovebug and it made me love Mister Frodo. 

It's not just the usual kind of love neither. It's the kind that hobbits only have for other hobbits of the opposite gender, if you get my meaning. Or leastways that's how most hobbits, including my Gaffer would see it. I don't just love him as I love a friend or a relative that I'm close to, but in ways I shouldn't imagine are right. And the way I knows this is because of what happened last night as we stayed at the Prancing Pony. 

See, when we first arrived we were cold and hungry and eager for company. So we went to the common room for a bite and sup. There were some very friendly sorts about as well as not so friendly and then there was Strider, but that's another story so I won't go into him, specially since he's just sitting across the room glaring out the window. So anyway, we were all on our best behavior until Mister Pippin decided to tell the tale of Mister Bilbo's disappearance and that set Mister Frodo off right smart. He jumped up on the table and began that silly old song about the Man in the Moon and that made everyone laugh to beat the band. I found myself just sitting there and staring at him, listening to his voice go on in is pretty tenor about the cat and the fiddle and the spoon and the dish. I started to come over queer like, like I was imagining him without no clothes on. His voice just reached inside me and took hold of my heart and it began to beat faster as he sang on and on. 

Well, after a few minutes I could feel chills running up and down my spine and I was trembling all over and just gazing so intently at Mister Frodo that I almost jumped up and kissed him when he finished the song first time through. I just caught myself as the crowd went wild and asked for it to be sung again. I had to excuse myself for a bit after that, knowing that if I got too close I might do something to make us both ashamed. That's when I knew there was something wrong with me. Or not wrong as you may expect. I know you understand how I love him, not like a friend or a brother but something I can't quite put my finger on. Something that makes me want to hold him in my arms and comfort him when I see him cringe at any sound. Something that makes me want to curl up next to him at night and put my arms around him and kiss him until he isn't afraid anymore. Something that makes me want to see him without no clothes on. And part of me don't care what no-one thinks, but then I think what would Mister Frodo think if he knew I had these feelings for him. And I can't right say what he would think, but I know that he wouldn't reject me. He loves me in his own way. I know he does. And that will just have to be enough. 

Well diary, I must dash now. Mister Frodo is calling for me as he's found us a pony that needs looking at. His voice is so lovely, like an elven song, if I may speak plain and to you I know I can. He wants me and needs me. So I must answer his call. More later.

Samwise Gamgee

THE END  
  


Archive Index


	2. More Than Meets The Eye

LITTLE THINGS: More Than Meets the Eye

by Janet Elizabeth  


Dear Bilbo, 

It's me Frodo. Though you will never see this journal, I am writing it as if to you because that just feels right somehow. And I must have someone familar to talk to, though Sam, Pippin and Merry are the best friends any Hobbit could wish for, but I have something dangerous and delicate to discuss. I can almost hear your voice and see your face as I would be telling you this, but of course without the shock and disapproval I would find there. And disapprove you would, despite the fact that you have never disapproved of anything I've ever done. But then this secret would change all that. 

I know that there are some folk in the world who consider cross-species love to be acceptable and I guess I have some of that in my own background, and I also know that there are those who let males be with males and the opposite with females as the Elves do, but it is not something too common amongst Hobbits, neither cross-species or same gender. But there is the crux of my dilemna. I am not as other Hobbits and have known this for some many years. 

In fact I have known since I came of age and attempted to try my hand with the lasses as most newly majoritied Hobbits do. But my dismal failures with every lass I went with left me empty and crying out for more. It wasn't until I found myself here in Bree and gazing up into the eyes of a man by the name of Strider that I knew what it was that I so craved and desired. 

Ever since last night when he pulled me up from beneath that table and I gazed into those clear grey-blue orbs, I have felt a burning inside me that seems unquenchable, except to look upon his face ever more. 

He's a Ranger out of the wilds who I suspect has more about him than meets the eye, much as Gandalf's letter hinted at. And he is so fey and fair that I am undone by every look he gives me. His gaze sets a fire within me that I never felt and my loins seek to betray me. His touch is like a pleasurable pain that even obliterates what the ring is doing to me. I almost cannot bear to be in the same room with him, but then again I must be as close to him as possible. 

Here in the wild things are worse as there is more opportunity for him and I to come in contact and the morning bathing rituals, which are no more than a splash in the swampy waters of the Midgewater Marshes, have become a source of great fear and excitment to me. I do not wish to be seen sneaking a glance at our dour guide. The others would not understand and I have caught Sam giving me queer glances a time or two as if he knew was I was thinking. I cannot help myself though. Strider is becoming dear to me, not only for his help and expertise but for these growing feelings I must hide inside. 

Above all this, my dear Uncle Bilbo, is the almost unbearable desire to fling myself into Strider's arms each night and snuggle against his warmth and safety. I have this secret vision of the two of us, in some safe haven, curled in each other's arms as he teaches me the ways of love that I am painfully unaware of. I yearn, no crave, his touch and attention and a part of me is glad that the ring is my burden to bear, for it ensures that Strider must give me the best part of his thoughts each day and night. That may sound strange and perhaps a madness has come over me, but be that as it may, I cannot deny what my heart and body want. 

But these thoughts must remain thoughts only. If Strider or the other's knew, I could only imagine what they would say. Their laughter or perhaps their scorn and of course my dear Ranger's rejection would peirce me to my depths. I cannot imagine a pain greater than this. 

I must put this journal away in secret, though I'm sure my faithful Sam knows of its existence, if not it's content. He would never deem to spy on me and for that I know my secret is safe. But agan, the moon wanes and we approach Weathertop, where Strider says we may find some clue as to the lights we saw a few nights ago. I go now, as his eyes are on my again and look askance for my thoughts. I shiver and say goodnight. 

Frodo Baggins   
  
  


THE END  
  


Archive Index


	3. Kissing Cousins

LITTLE THINGS: Kissing Cousins

by Janet Elizabeth  


Dear Journal,

It's me, Peregrin, Pippin to you if you like. I have a secret for you and you can't tell a soul. I know you won't but I just wanted to say that. I'm so giddy with what has happened today that I may burst the buttons on my waistcoat if I don't tell someone. So, here comes the secret.

Merry kissed me today! Isn't that exciting? I know I was surprised and thrilled too. Oh it wasn't a big kiss like a lad gives a lass but it was nice just the same and I can only hope there will be more. I don't care what anyone says. I know we're both males and beneath our majority but then that's what being young is for. And well, it doesn't matter that we're cousins cause it's not that close in blood and well, we are both males and all. Besides, what Hobbit hasn't had a crush on an older cousin or friend of the same sex? It's perfectly natural, at least for the Tooks and Brandybucks. I won't go into the stories about the old Bullroarer that I've heard. He had quite the appetite for both lads and lasses and well, he never suffered no harm.

I guess this means that Merry and I are in love, but then again I don't really know how he's feeling. He hasn't actually said, but I know what I'd like to say to him. I'd like to sneak up close while we sleep, in fact I just may tonight and whisper that I love him in his ear. He's such a handsome Hobbit and all, with his pretty clothes. Not as fine as dear Frodo and certainly not of the same sort as Sam who is a sturdy fellow and lovely in his own way, but Merry is well ... of a different sort. More like me if you will. Footloose and fancy free, with nought a care in the world except of course for getting Frodo safely to Rivendell with the Ring.

I'm so happy that Merry and I came along on this journey, despite all the danger and these wretched midges in these marshes, but at least Merry and I can be alone sometimes. That never happened back home, where a dozen and one aunts and uncles and sisters and cousins are all crowding around and wanting us to be what we aren't. I just wish they would leave us alone. I mean, just because they caught us playing show and tell in the altogether doesn't mean we were going to do anything. We were just comparing and well, we were fairly young being still below our tweens and all. I still don't know what all the fuss was about. I know we had each other in hand but, like I said, we were only curious. Mind, it was fun while it lasted and not just for me. I could see my dear sweet Merry's smile creeping across his lovely face as we tickled each other. Ahh, I miss that, and after that they kept such a close eye on each of us. Good thing we're almost to our majority and can do as we please.

Anyway, back to the kiss. We were just bedding down for the night and Sam was snuggling up to Frodo's back, and on a side note I wonder what's going on there but then again, none of my beeswax.

So, Merry and I were on the other side of the clearing, with Strider pacing back and forth keeping watch like he does, when Merry grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. He didn't say anything but the look in his eye was a kind of scared and lusty look, like he wanted to do or say something but was afraid to. So I just looked at him, all innocent like I can do when I want, and he kept opening and closing his mouth, licking his lips and breathing heavy. Finally I leaned over to ask him what was wrong with him and that's when it happened. He just put his soft wet lips on mine and lingered on for a moment or two and then broke away. Then just like that he whispered goodnight and closed his eyes tight. I was so surprised I couldn't move for a moment. But let me tell you, I liked it, a lot. I can't wait for him and I to have some time alone together. Maybe there will be some woods where we can go tramping and maybe get some time to kiss again and who knows what more. Goodnight journal and wish me luck.

Peregrin Took

  
  
  


THE END  
  


Archive Index


	4. Man Of My Dreams

LITTLE THINGS: Man of My Dreams

by Janet Elizabeth  


Dear Diary,  
  


I have a terrible secret to tell you diary, and it involves both my cousin Pippin and a man by the name of Boromir of Gondor. You see, on the way here to Rivendell, I found myself doing a thing that I should never have done. I kissed Pippin. I'm still not sure why I did or what made me want to kiss him in particular, seeing as he's my cousin and all, but nonetheless I kissed him. 

  
  


I haven't kissed him since, but he has been looking at me expectantly. I'm not sure what he wants but I don't think it's something I want. It was only a kiss and well, I've been a bit confused lately. I don't feel like other hobbit lads approaching their majority. I don't find most of the lasses to be that interesting and I seem to prefer the company of the lads. That would be fine if that's all it was but it doesn't stop there. I have found myself with feelings that a lad is supposed to have for a lass, or so I'm told that's how lads feel about lasses.

  
  


I first noticed it when the lads were bathing at Crickhollow. I saw them in the altogether, which is not uncommon for hobbit lads to do amongst family and close friends, but I started to get a squicky feeling in my belly as I looked at their young Hobbit bodies. Sort of a fluttery hot and cold sensation. I hurried away as soon as that started to finish the supper, but I couldn't get it out of my head. And when we all were taken by the Barrow Wight in the Downs and we ran naked in the sunshine after, I had that same feeling. I was very glad to get some clothes on and continue our journey.

  
  


In Bree, things got worse. We met up with a man called Strider, who it turns out is of the line of kings or some such for a kingdom away down south and while we were all on the road to Rivendell, it was difficult not to see each other's nude bodies. It doesn't mean anything amongst males, or so it shouldn't, but I couldn't help but find myself fascinated with the human male anatomy. It's not that much different from a Hobbit's but on a much larger scale and with more hair. I had taken to spying on Strider during his eliminations, which I know is wrong in any case but I just had to see more of that human male body. It was after one such instance, when I saw Strider touching himself in a pleasurable way that I kissed Pippin. I was so overwrought and excited by what I had seen that I just had to kiss someone, even if just to know how it felt.

  
  


After that, Frodo was stabbed and neither Pip nor myself had any interest in our extra nighttime activities. But then we arrived in Rivendell and it is here that I find myself overwhelmed with thoughts and feelings that I don't know how to control. There is another man, a man from the kingdom of Gondor. He is a warrior, stern and tall and his name is Boromir.

  
  


I saw him a few days after we arrived, while Frodo was still recovering. He didn't see me but I certainly saw him arrive. He rode up on his horse looking rough from living on the trail but something in me just stopped and I felt faint. It seems like he is something out of one of my vague dreams and I'm so very confused.

  
  


But I can't help but wonder at these feelings that are inspired within my humble Hobbit heart. He is so very tall and very handsome, much more like a king that Strider and there is a burning desire in me to kiss this tall human and bring a smile to his lips. I want to see his eyes light up with delight because of me. I want to touch his face and have his strong hands touch me. I know this might be wrong in some circles, but I care not for those who don't want to understand. I want this man from out of my dreams.

  
  


I have to go now. Pippin is looking for me. He's shouting something about Frodo and I have to make sure that my cousin is okay. I just hope Pippin doesn't ask me about Boromir, because I might have to tell the truth. I will write more later diary.  
  


Meriadoc Brandybuck  
  
  


THE END  
  


Archive Index


	5. Foolish Heart

LITTLE THINGS: Foolish Heart

by Janet Elizabeth  
  
My Dear Radgast,

  
  


I am writing to you with a dilemma and I know you will be discreet. I fear there is something quite wrong with me. I have found myself with a foolish little crush on a creature that I have no business with. His name is Peregrin Took and he's a hobbit, of which I'm sure you've heard.

  
  


They are a curiously marvelous race of people with rich customs and nothing more violent in their backgrounds than killing a few wolves. These days, they mostly murder mushrooms and copious, hobbit-sized pints of ale, and of course the delightful vice of pipeweed. And this little hobbit is no different, though perhaps a bit younger than most. He is well off his majority and even were I to ignore the customs of his people, he would still be a flibbertigibbet of a creature.

  
  


He is not a practical hobbit. Nor is very mature. He still laughs and frolics like a youth of ten summers, though he can put as much ale away as any of the human or dwarfish race. He eats constantly and inelegantly. He knows little outside his own head and he thinks we are on a great adventure. But, he is sweet and fair to look upon. His curls are golden in the sunlight. His eyes a bright and curious green. When he smiles or laughs it's as if the sun has come from behind a bank of clouds and he has the most curious spray of freckles across his nose. His form is small, the smallest hobbit of the same age I have ever seen, almost delicate like an elven lass. I find myself fascinated with his hands and neck. I have to fight myself at odd moments not to clasp his hands in mine own and cover them with kisses. At night, I must be ever vigilant for fear that I will lay down beside him, too close and bury my wooly face in his tender curls. I adore him and yet I curse the day I ever set eyes upon him.

  
  


I first saw him when I was visiting old Bilbo Baggins and at that time he was but a mere child toddling about. And then, in later years as I began my friendship with young Frodo, Pippin, as his friends and relations call him, had begun to grow up. He was a mere tweenager the last I saw him before now and he is a tweenager yet. His face still looks as if his mother washes it for him and he rabbits about like he had ants in his pants. There are times when I want to turn him over my knee and spank him soundly. Though the darker side of that thought is that both he and I might enjoy that a bit too much.

  
  


So, as I sit here, writing this desperate letter to you in the dark beside our camp in Hollin, I can see his small form curled beneath his blankets near his cousin Meriadoc. And yet, as I watch, he stirs, as if he can sense me looking. He is rising and padding towards me. He is near -

  
  


My apologies, old friend. My precious youngster has asked me to walk him to a place of privacy. He says he needs to relieve himself and I fear for my own mind. To know that he is exposed as he has been so many times before, but never alone, never with me. I must set iron in my soul to remain strong and not reach out to touch him. Oh my poor foolish heart. I must go.

  
  


Yours, Gandalf the Grey


	6. Warrior's Lament

**LITTLE THINGS: Warrior's Lament  
by Janet Elizabeth**

Dear Father,

I write to you in absence of any other to confide in and I know that my secret is safe with you on the other side of death. I have a dilemma that I know not how to solve and I hope that perhaps my thoughts will become clear as I lay them out in this letter.

For many years I have led a solitary life. I have not been without companionship, for I am never alone so long as I have the remnants of our people, Elrond and his house and of course, the Lady Arwen, whom I love above no other. But there has always been a space within me that is empty and cold. Nothing seems to fill that space, not the love of my lady fair nor the loyalty and trust I share with my fellow warriors. Not even the friendship of such great ones as Lord Elrond and Gandalf the Grey has been ever able to fill that emptiness.

But then, a few years ago, a long time among other men but just a short while for those of us men of the longer lived Numenorians, I was given the task of guarding the borders of the Shire. You will know of the halflings, hobbits as they call themselves. We guard them not only out of a desire to preserve a northern part of our once great kingdom, nor just to keep safe such a peaceful way of life, but also to keep safe the bane of Isildur. And guard her borders I have, for many long years in the reckoning of lesser men. I never met any of her denizens, for secrecy was our greatest weapon, though I did become quite friendly with old Bilbo Baggins, whom I consider to be more a hobbit of the whole of middle-earth than of just the Shire. I thought, for the most part, that though precious as hobbits and their way of life are, that they were by and large silly, simple creatures. That is I used to think this way. And then I met four of the Shire's sons and have grown close to all.

But it is not just this unlikely friendship between the Dunedain and the little folk that unsettles me, and let me make clear that this foursome brings me joy. There is one of them in particular who seems to have fit himself into the empty space inside of me. He is an unassuming creature, steadfast, loyal and true. His heart as stout as any warriors and yet he craves nothing more than the peace of a pipe at sunset, a good meal and beauty of nature. His dedication to his master makes him so appealing that I find myself wishing that I was bearer of that evil thing, so that perhaps he would lavish his attentions upon me.

As it is, he mistrusted me at first and he is more dear to me for that. He was only protecting his master and that is not fault. In fact, it was then that I began to watch him as much as Frodo. For Samwise Gamgee, gardener's son is a source of joy and pain to me. I watch his every move. They way he holds his head when he's thinking. His quickness to leap into the jaws of danger when Frodo is in peril. His actions on Weathertop alone were enough to make him shine. And in Rivendell, when Frodo lingered between this world and the wraith world, I could not help but feel helpless in the face of Sam's devotion.

And now, here we are, on top of the mountain and being covered by this wretched snow. Sam huddles with the others, his faithful pony Bill shielding him. But I can still see the top of his head, his sunny curls caked with whiteness. I wish I could go to him, brush the snow from his hair and run my fingers through the damp curls. I want to take him in my arms and give him some of the comfort he tries to give Frodo. He is brave for one of his people, but even this can make the strongest weak.

I only listen to half of what Gandalf says as I study the sturdy young gardener. I cannot help myself. He fills my darkest places with light. He gives me hope where I have none. He is stronger than all the rest of us in the face of his own hopes for his master's success. I long to see his smile again and hear more of his 'poetry'. I wonder how it would feel to have his hand in mine. 

You can see my conflicted desires, father. I love my Arwen, but is there shame in loving this dear hobbit? Is it wrong to want to give him a part of me? I know not. And this letter has done nothing to clear my head. I am only more in love with Sam than I was before. If my death comes before I achieve my end, whom will I call for? Oh father, would that I wish you were here to give me your council in this most unusual situation.

Well, I am no nearer an answer. I will end here and hope that the light of truth shines upon me sooner than late.

Your son,  
Aragorn


	7. Royal Flush

**LITTLE THINGS: Royal Flush**

by Janet Elizabeth

Dear Mother,

As I sit in the darkness of Moria, a place no elf should ever go, I must write to you on a matter of great importance. I don't have much time, so I will make this brief. You have known for many years of my wavering in my choice of companionship. You and only you know of my dalliances with both males and females of our people. You have accepted me and my choices and told none of my encounters. You have listened to all my fears and soothed every heartache. But now I bring you a problem of a different sort and I need your discretion once again.

There is a man, a human man who has filled each and every one of my senses to the brim. I can see only him. Hear only his voice. He breathes out and I breathe in. I shadow his footsteps and watching him sleep is better than the living dream our people share. When he looks my way, I can feel the flush of pleasure at his glance cover each exposed inch of my flesh. He has taken this prince of the wood, who has seen more summers than he has been alive, and turned me into a blushing youth who cannot find his tongue to speak most of the time.

I cannot explain why this should be so, but it is. He is a man of destiny, much like the elves and men of the first age. In him I seen Huor and Tuor and Beren One Hand. He is brave like no other and his devotion to our quest is only surpassed by his great desire to see all the kingdoms of middle-earth free from the yoke of Sauron's evil. But I have yet to tell you of the best of things.

It seems my hero is also endearingly flawed as well, for despite his adoration and promises to Arwen, he is subject to the needs of any lusty full-grown male. I have caught him time and again engaged in hurried moments of self pleasure and it has made my blood run hot and my spine shiver. I long to move to him and embrace him. I desire him in a way that I have never desired any other. And still this is not the least of my concern.

I fear that it is more than lust that consumes me. I fear for the state of my heart. I fear that I would stay well beyond the last of all our people before I sought the havens. Even my growing friendship with the dwarf Gimli cannot surpass what it is I seem to feel for Aragorn. 

And there is my dilemma. As you can see, a Prince of Mirkwood loves the future King of Gondor and the son of the kings of Numenor. I long to lie with him and yet, the simple thought of just holding his hand in my own and gazing deeply into his deep-set eyes fills me with a joy so bright that not even the sight of Valinor could bring me more pleasure or peace. He undoes me with just a glance and yet each moment spent near him strengthens me more.

I'm sorry Mother. I don't mean to disappoint. But I love him. Can you understand?

Your loving son,

Legolas


	8. The Affairs of Wizards

**LITTLE THINGS: The Affairs of Wizards by Janet Elizabeth**

To My Brother Faramir,

I write to you in hopes of finding a cure for this thing that ails me. I am quite ill and all my thoughts, words and deeds seem tinged with this sickness that haunts me.

But let me be clear on what has befallen your might brother. Do you remember when we were boys, still young enough to need tutors, but old enough to bear arms and command small companies of men? Do you also remember who was our teacher and master of knowledge? Of course you do, for you adored him then and still do now.

But I did not adore him and in fact I expressed my despite of him at every turn. I shouted my dislike of him at the end of every lesson and would constantly complain to father that I did not wish my mind to be filled with the useless knowledge that only a wizard can provide. Everyone knew of my dislike for Mithrandir, including the greybeard himself.

But that is not the whole truth. There is another I must share, for while I publicly denounced his attentions, that was merely a cover for my youthful broken heart. I am shamed at my wanton destruction of our teacher's good name, and all because of a misunderstanding and my own silly emotions.

You see, dear brother, I and Gandalf had a very brief affair of the heart, or at least my heart was involved. The state of his I am at a loss to say what he felt. All I know is that for a fortnight he dallied with my body and toyed with my emotions.

Yes. You have read the right of it. We were lovers, old Mithrandir and I, but doubt not the vigor of his manner. He may appear as an aged man, but he has fire and youth in him still. Or he did then. He was stern with me in our trysts and I was a silly boy, allowing myself to fall in love someone who's only loyalty lay in the care of Middle-earth herself. He cared for me only as another of her children and child I was. I remember too well the early days of our trysting, the passion and the fumbling hands of the oldest son of Denethor. I remember how he guided me, taught me and then in the end, spurned me. 

He was kind enough in his way, but I was still wounded to my core as I watched him leave us. I remember you cried that day, but I did not. I had spent all my tears the night before as I raged and wept and begged him not to end things. But the old saying came true to me that night. You know the one, "Meddle not in the affairs of wizards for they are quick to anger". And angry he was with me as I threatened to go to our father with a tale that he had taken me without honor, though I only said such things to try and force him to remain with me. He struck me then, not once or twice, but thrice and I could not believe that someone who had been so tender and gentle with me could beat me so. If you remember, I lied and said I had been in a fight with our distant kin, the Prince of Dol Amroth. I don't know if father believed that, but I did not care then. I was bereft and not given to charity towards anyone. I know my lie made my father order a beating on the young Prince, but when your heart is broken from it's first love affair, you care nothing for the welfare of others.

And now years have passed. You and I are men and leaders of men. Our father is old. But my wounds are still present and have coloured all my exchanges with others. Still, I thought myself well rid of my first lover. Until now.

He has caught me again and I am right back where I started. Gandalf is too dangerous for me. He was in Imladris when I arrived and now I am upon a great quest with him. I daresay that he remembers all too well what we shared those many years ago, but he says naught of it. But there are odd moments when I catch his eyes on me and I feel the flush of shame creep over my flesh again. I am glad for the darkness of Kazadhum despite the danger and the imminent attack of the orcs. The darkness gives me relief from the gimlet gaze of my torment. For the secret I must tell you yet, is that I love him still.

I live in torment. I only hope you will have some words of comfort and not judgement when you and I next meet. Time has been no cure for this and only death shall release me.

Your Captain, Boromir son of Denethor


	9. Sunlight On Silver

LITTLE THINGS: Sunlight On Silver

by Janet Elizabeth  
  
Early spring.

  
  


We have stopped for a brief rest on the borders of the Golden Wood to tend to Frodo's wounds and I take this chance to set down some of my turmoil of thoughts.

  
  


We have lost Gandalf. He fell in battle with Durin's Bane, the Balrog of Kazadhum. It is a deadly blow for us all and little comfort is to be found, though one of Durin's race do not seek comfort as a rule. But I am changed from what I was before this quest began and comfort I do too seek.

  
  


My eyes go unwilling to the one thing that eases my mind of late. A fair thing, nay fair does not being to describe something as rare as mithril and, to me, just as precious.

  
  


A quick glance only will I dare at this moment and that shall have to sustain me. But it is a glorious sight and gladdens my heart just a little.

  
  


He is so beautiful. How can any one creature be so lovely? His eyes so old they make me feel young. The planes of his face so delicate like the finest cut diamond. And his hair, bright as sunlight on silver.

  
  


I am overwhelmed that a dwarf could feel these things and for an elf as well. What possess me? What change has this lovely creature worked upon me? Is it some glamour or spell of the elves? I am lost in each moment he is near and of late, he is all too near too much.

  
  


I am tormented at his every word or glance. And if he should touch me, I feel a fluttering in my breast. It is unseemly and yet I cannot deny my feelings.

  
  


I long to see him unclothed, to gaze upon that milk white flesh that so haunts my dreams. I want to touch and devour, to forsake myself in pleasure with him. Desire is strong within me and I burn in need.

  
  


I steal one more quick glance and my breath catches in my throat. He stands sentry, his lovely long-seeing eyes scanning for the orc's who pursue us. I shiver as the heat from my loins spreads like fire all through me. And then I have to look away. He is too beautiful and I am a dwarf.

  
  


A curse on elves and all their beauty. Legolas is too fair by far.

  
  


Aragorn has signaled to move on. For now I am saved.

  
  


Gimli, son of Gloin


End file.
